


Riding Shotgun

by OneConfusedAngel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Future Fic, Gen, Ghost!Dean - Freeform, Impala Fic, Near Future, Non-Human Impala, POV Outsider, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:14:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1239382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneConfusedAngel/pseuds/OneConfusedAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nick goes searching for his first vehicle he lucks into his dream car, a 1967 Chevy Impala.  He gets a little more than he expected when he realized the previous owner wasn't so anxious to let her go. (Inspired by "Riding With Private Malone")</p><p> </p><p>Excerpt From Chapter 3:</p><p>“Listen to her purr!” The voice yelled over the music. On instinct I turned my head to the right, as though looking to the person who spoke. </p><p>He wasn't solid and complete, like one might assume. More like a reflection caught in breeze blown water, but enough there that I knew who I was staring at. He bobbed his head to the music, his hand extended out the window, trying to catch the wind. The smile on his face was one of pure bliss. I was overcome with the sense of coming home after years of being forced into exile. It was overwhelming, and I felt the pain and the joy swell inside of me, amplified by the acknowledgment of what I was seeing.</p><p>“Don't freak out, Nikki. Take it in and open her up.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Old Chevy

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Riding With Private Malone](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/37780) by David Ball. 



> This story is complete. I will upload a chapter a day . . . or an hour, depending on my patience. ENJOY!

**Chapter 1: Old Chevy**

My eyes were blurry and beginning to water as I sat for my third consecutive hour staring at car ads on the computer. I hadn’t seen anything yet that had struck my fancy, and was beginning to get frustrated. Perhaps fancy was the wrong word. They were all too expensive or too expensive to fix up. I didn’t mind a little bit of a fixer upper, I had budgeted for that, but seriously, who asks a thousand bucks for a car without an engine? I'm was in high school for Christ's sake.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes, blinking and trying to bring the screen back into view. An ad I had overlooked before caught my eye. _Old Chevy. $1000._ “Well that’s ambiguous.” I read through a few more ads before coming back to the _Old Chevy_. “Oh well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.” I said out loud, and dialed the number.

I spoke to an older woman, who said she didn’t know anything about the car, but did remember it was a Chevy. I decided to go take a look. Like I said, nothing ventured, nothing gained. After all, it might be in a decent shape. I called my best friend, Shawn, for a ride, and after promising to help him sneak out for a party next weekend, (that he hadn’t been invited to, by the way, and probably would be kicked out of) he offered up his services. The place was on the outskirts of town, about half an hour away. It was an area filled with old farms, and rundown homestead houses.

A slight sense of foreboding ran through me when we pulled into the drive way. It looked like the place may have been a running farm fifty years ago. The house was small, with a rap around porch and chipped gray paint that had probably been white when it was first applied. There was an old rusty tractor off to the side of the barn, which was weathered from years of neglect. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the random chickens that pecked the ground, and the old dog that limped around with one glazed over eye.

“Dude?” Shawn’s chuckle matched mine. “This does not bode well.”

“Well, let’s look anyway. We’re here now.” Even though I was determined to look at this _Old Chevy_ , I couldn’t help but agree with Shawn’s statement. An image of the old Ford Tempo my older sister, Stephanie had purchased two years earlier came to mind. It was blue, with a black hood, and rusted bumpers. Yes, both bumpers were rusted and both bumpers were held onto that car with duck tape. But that wasn't the best part. No, the best part was the passenger side back door. The back door that would swing open whenever you took a turn to sharp. _Thank God for seat belts._

The old woman was nice enough. A little hunched and slow in her movements. She carried a small gray oxygen tank on her hip, and shuffled us towards the barn. “Two men left it here about five years ago.” She began. “Gave me $100 to hold it for them until they came back, and said if they weren’t back in a year to find it a good home. Well they never came back and I forgot about it. But I’m selling the place and need to get rid of everything. If you see anything else you like, it’s all for sale.” She rambled on a bit longer about taxes, old age and her grand kids wanting her to go into a nursing home. “Bastards.” She mumbled under her breath.

We opened the doors of the barn, which creaked loudly and flung years of dust into the air, making us cough and our eyes water. We were immediately hit with a smell of must, mildew and chickens. _“Oh, this is bad.”_ I thought. The woman pointed to a green army tarp in the back of the barn. I shrugged at Shawn, and then yanked it off. Our reactions couldn’t have been more different. Shawn grimaced. Disgusted with the dirty old car, covered in mud, and showing signs of rust, where years of the damp barn had taken its toll. There were a few dents, the chrome was tarnished and the interior leather was worn and cracked.

Where as Shawn gave an audible groan, I stood in awe. My breath hitched. I mean, seriously hitched. I had only ever had that happen one other time, and it wasn’t because of a girl. It had been nearly a year ago, and for the exact same reason it hitched today.

It had been a Fourth of July fair and a classic car show. I didn’t usually attend car shows. I simply was not a “car guy”. I didn't generally find cars all that interesting. But there was a concert I wanted to attend a few hours later, and after rides, games, and indigestion, figured I’d kill some of it eyeing other people’s waste of money. I strolled through the lanes of cars, cringing at some, but admiring others. I could appreciate a beautiful paint job, and I could appreciate style. Cars use to have style. I remember thinking how they all looked alike now. Over all, I wasn’t impressed, but I could have spent my time doing worse things.

Then I saw it. It was a thing of beauty. So simple but elegant. No fancy paint job or decorative rims. Just black and chrome staring forward - _challenging_. I got the impression that the car was standing with its arms crossed, nodding its head and saying, “Bring it.” I, honest to God, felt a stirring in my groin, and my breath, did indeed, hitch. I wiped at my mouth, which was suddenly too dry, and damp at the same time. I had to force myself to breath. This car was seriously _HOT!!!_ I was overcome with the urge to sit in the front seat and run my fingers over the steering wheel and breathe in the scent of leather and motor oil, because I was convinced that is how it would smell.

I noticed a stocky man in a Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and aviators sitting nonchalantly in a yellow and white beach chair. I stalked over to him, much more aggressively than I intended to this car, and this middle aged joker who was in the way of my desperate need to lay some sort of claim to it. The man jolted at my abrupt approach. “Tell me about this car.” I demanded. After the look of shock faded from his face, Albert Combs, as I would learn his name was, smirked, raised himself from his seat and said, arms crossed mimicking the attitude of his automobile, “Let me tell you about this car.”

From that moment on, I had been obsessed. Secretly obsessed, mind you, but still obsessed. I didn’t want my friends to know I was jonesing after a car. My click was more of a Magic Cards & D&D type. The idea of drooling over a muscle car drudged up images of wife beater clad, mullet headed hair band junkies, and honestly I had enough problems enduring torment over my predilection for LARPing. (Don’t judge me). The last thing I needed was to be relentlessly teased by my own circle of friends. So in secret, the wallpaper on my computer became this car. I stuffed a picture in my desk drawer, and written across my Black and Chrome Beauty were the words, _“mine mine mine”._ I was determined and convinced. “It will be mine.”

So at that moment, in that smelly barn, staring at this seriously abused car, I didn’t care that I was a nerd. I didn’t care that I was going to spend more than budgeted to fix it up. I didn’t care that Shawn was tugging on my shirt trying to pull me away from, what he had all ready decided, was the worst mistake of my young life. My mind reeled with _mine mine mine_. I ran my hand over the hood of the mistreated steel. My poor beauty, whose twin had stood confident and self assured, was withering away. A poor imitation of her former glory, and yes, right then and there I knew she was a girl. Without a word, I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. Opening it, I pulled out the ten, one hundred dollar bills, and counted them over to the lady, feeling guilty, knowing that even in its current state this car was worth ten times that.

I slid behind the wheel rubbing my hands over the steering wheel, just as I had envisioned that Fourth of July. Behind the lingering stench of mildew and chickens, she smelled just as I had envisioned. The scent of leather and oil - and something else. I closed my eyes and breathed in heavily through my nose, searching my memory for that aroma. _Old Spice_. I could feel a smile nudge at my lips at the recognition.

I placed the key in the ignition and turned. Nothing. Not even an attempt to turn over. I didn’t care. “Dude, you can’t be serious.” Shawn said. “I mean it man. You have no idea what you’re getting here. It won’t even start, and even if it does, Dude, the gas mileage. It’s a tank man, is there even enough gas in the world to get it started. The size alone, Nick. I don't think they make parking spots this big anymore.”

I just smiled at him, certain that my glee was radiating off of me like a frickin’ nuclear bomb. “I know exactly what I’m getting, Shawn. This... this...” I ran a hand over the hood, then, over come with a need to demonstrate the affection that was already forming between me and my beloved, kissed my finger tips, and touched them down. “This is a 1967 Chevy Impala. The most beautiful car ever created. And it’s MINE.” Shawn just shook his head, and helped me chain my Beauty to his Dodge Intrepid. He didn't get it. Not yet. But once I had her up and running, and mint cherry; Shawn would come around. How could he not. She was flippin' fantastic.


	2. Hello. . .

It took us an hour to get home. The fiberglass Intrepid sputtering along, struggling under the weight of the steel Impala. I couldn’t help feeling a bit apologetic to the classic vehicle, having to be drug along by Shawn’s much inferior, computerized, cookie cutter car. (Do you sense my smugness?) Once I got her finished, she would be the one pulling the Intrepid next time it broke down. Of course, for now I was appreciative of the Intrepid. Of course I was. It wasn’t the Impala, but it was doing a service, and I was grateful.

When my Dad saw us pull in, his mouth dropped. I wasn’t certain if he was gaping at the awesomeness of my find, or, if like Shawn, at the stupidity of my purchase. It didn’t take me long to find out. As I stepped out of Shawn’s car, my dad walked up to me, shaking his head. “What the HELL is this, Nick?!” He yelled at me. “I thought you said you were going get something sensible. This is a gas guzzler. Does it even run? I am not driving you around all over town if you can’t get this thing running. Do you even know what you’re doing? You don’t even know how to change the oil. For Christ’s sake, Nick.” Seriously, this is how it went for a good ten minutes.

To be perfectly honest, I was thankful for the lecture. It gave me time to sort my thoughts, and decide how I wanted to address this particular melt down. Don't get me wrong. My dad was probably well within his right to be concerned. We weren't rich, and dad really didn't have the money to help me fix up a car, much less one like the Impala. So I held my temper in check. It was hard, because everything in me wanted to defend her honor in the most primal way. Like I had wanted to posses her twin that fourth of July. That’s when it came to me. When he was all talked out, I told him the same thing Albert Combs told me.

“Dad,” I began. “Let me tell you about _this_ car. This is a 1967 Chevrolet Impala. Sports Sedan. 4-door hard top.” I repeated the gesture I made with Shawn, and pressed my kissed fingers to her hood. “Not only did Chevy include new safety features, never included before, which you should totally love, like better brakes, better steering, over the shoulder seat belts.”(At this point in my exuberance, I may, or may not, have bounced on the balls of my feet and squealed like a little girl.) “Oh My God, Dad! The base model had a 327-cubic inch V-8 rated at 275.” I reached inside and popped the hood, coming around to lift it up, I pointed excitedly at the engine. “This girl has a 427 cubic inch V-8. 425 horsepower and 460 lb-ft of torque.” I stopped and took a deep breath, because I hadn't breathed since I started talking. “She is awesome, because not only is she perfect for drag racing...which...I would …never do... she was also known as a great family car. She was known as a sensible car.” Yeah, I know I was laying it on thick.

“Keep in mind, she's a great investment. Yeah, I spent a grand on her, but even in this condition, she's worth a lot more, and fixed up, HOLY COW, Dad. Not that I would ever sell her. And. And. And. Get this. The fender bulges, totally inspired by the Corvette. Its called 'Coke Bottle Styling'. And look.” I knelt down running my hands over the front fenders. “wrap around front grille, look at the lattice...Dad. Dad. This is...For this girl right here, I will get a second job and learn to change the damn oil.” I smiled up at my dad, leaving my hand to rub on the bumper. “She's the most beautiful thing I've ever laid my eyes on.”

My dad stood there, his arms still crossed, his mouth hanging open. I had the impression that I might have gone just a little to far. I ran everything I had said over in my mind. Nope. Pretty sure I was good. Covered all the bases, hit the high points. Maybe a bit less eloquently than Albert Combs, but still, I got all the details right. Then my dad unfolded his arms and continued to stare at me for a moment before saying, “Nick, I have no idea what the hell you just said.” And proceeded back to the house. I smiled to myself. Whether he was struck dumb by my impressive knowledge of the Impala, or was just too brain fried to argue anymore, it didn't really matter. I won.

After I unhitched her, and Shawn and I maneuvered her into her place, he shook his head at me, and said, “Dude, who are you, and what have you done with Nick.”

“I am a multifaceted individual, Shawn. I am deep and complex.”

“You just had a cargasm. Over a muscle car. That's not deep. That's redneck.”

I had, to this point taken the jabs in good humor. I had expected them, but wasn't going to let the mocking deter my dream. For some reason, I was struck with an overwhelming sense of irritation. No. Not irritation. I was pissed off. I could actually feel myself angering, and had this consuming need to defend my girl. “Shawn,” I began, “you're treading thin ice.” I rubbed my hands on my jeans, and wiped at my mouth. “I'm trying really hard not to kick your ass right now.” I moved into his space. “You disrespect my car again, and I'm going to stop trying.” Shawn began to stutter an apology. I swear he looked scared, which struck me as odd, because I was not a scary person. I had, in fact been described as “squirly”. Not exactly an intimidating visage. Shawn's frightened demeanor was enough to make me step back, and shift my eyes to ground. I was a little ashamed at my behavior, not certain what came over me, but at the same time, I had a deep sense of pride. I had defended her honor. I had set ground rules. She was _not to be mocked._

Once Shawn departed, still obviously shaken by my threat, (more, I suspected by the fact that I had threatened him than by the possibility I would follow through, which I really couldn't ever see myself doing) I hooked the battery up to my dad’s car, and then began the slow process of cleaning her up and seeing exactly what the damage was. It wasn't nearly as bad as it looked in the barn. Granted, after sitting in what was effectively serving as a chicken coop for five years, she needed a ton of TLC, inside and out, but all in all, she wasn't in bad shape. At least she didn't seem it. Time would tell, because I had yet find out if she would even start. I crossed my fingers and gave a silent prayer to the heavens. _Please, please, please, don't let Shawn and Dad be right._

On the floor of the back seat I found a box of cassette tapes. I had to laugh. “AC/DC? Really?” I said it out loud, and as I did, I got the feeling I shouldn’t be making fun the music. I had a chill run down my spine, and a strange sensation of guilt, like I had just offended the previous owner of the car. “Sorry.” I said instinctively. I continued to look through the box. _Led Zeppelin, Motor head, Metallica._ I had to admit the music suited the car. Maybe once I get her done, the music would grow on me. I set the tapes aside, making a mental note to find a cassette player somewhere and take a listen to them, when it occurred to me that the battery had been charging for a while now, and maybe there was enough juice to get the tape player up and running.

I stuck the key in the ignition, and turned it slightly. The lights on the dash popped to life. “Yessssss.” I hissed, while fisting the air. I took the cassette marked “AC/DC” and pushed it in the player. A song I later learned was called “Shook Me All Night Long” began to spill out of the speakers. I leaned back in the seat, and listened to the words. I couldn’t help but smile. It was a feakin’ awesome song. _“See. AC/DC rocks.”_ A voice seemed to say in my head. And I had to agree. I slipped out of the seat smiling and continued to clean my girl.

I opened the trunk, expecting to find evidence of who had owned this beautiful car before me, but was surprised to find that it was spotless. On the underside of the trunk there was some sort of design drawn on in white paint. It reminded of something that I might see on horror movie about witches. “Dude? Who were you?” I said it out loud.

“ _Glove Box.”_ That voice in my head supplied. Of course the glove box. Why hadn’t I thought of that before? I scooted into the passenger seat and opened the box. Like the trunk, it was clean, save for a business sized envelope. The front said, “Read Me”. _Okay._ Inside was a letter and a picture. I looked at the picture first. There were two men sitting on the hood of the Impala, each with their arm around the others shoulders. I turned it over. “Me and Sammy.” Then I unfolded the letter and began to read.

_Hello._

_My name is Dean Winchester, and if you’re reading this, I never made it home. I’ll spare you the details of the who’s, what’s and where’s. This is about the car. This car you just bought. She was my dream come true, and now she belongs to you. So let me tell you about My Baby._

_I have lived in this car since I was four years old. My father took me, and my brother, Sammy, crisscrossing America. She carried us back and forth and up and down. When I was 18 my Dad handed me the keys, and on that day she became mine. When he died, it was just me and Sammy._

_Baby has been my home and my protector for more than 30 years. Our names are carved into her. Our marks left on her. Our blood, sweat and tears cover her. Her roof protected us from rain, from sun, and from all the monsters that stalk the night. We have eaten our meals inside of her. We have slept inside of her. I lost my virginity in her back seat, and made love inside of her countless times. This car has been part of every important moment of my life._

_She has saved me time and again. When we were struck by a semi-truck, it was her solid body that protected us from death. I rebuilt her from the ground up. When I was dragged to Hell and back, she sat waiting patiently. On the worst day of my life, watching my brother follow the same fate, it was My Baby’s body that caught me when I fell._

_When everyone I loved abandoned me, she was there for me. When I had no idea where I was going, or what I was doing, she carried me through until I figured it out._

_Here’s the point. Baby is the most awesome and magnificent car on earth. She was meant to be on the roads. She was meant to be driven. If you take care of her and love her, she will take care of and love you. She will be there for you for the next 30 years, like she has always been there for me. If you can’t do that, if you can’t appreciate her and take care of her and love her, then you need to move on and find someone for her that will, because she deserves the best._

_Dean Winchester_

I looked back at the photo, taking in the visages that stared back at me. They were smiling wide smiles, like laughing at a joke. The man on the left was the one I was drawn to. His hair was short, and combed back. His smile had more of a smirk to it, but neither the smile nor the smirk met his green eyes. He seemed burdened to me. Years of loss and sorrow etching across his face, and the potential for never returning from wherever he was headed weighing on his mind. He was a man who had lost everything, gained it back, time and again, and sat preparing to lose it all once more. I knew instantly that this was Dean.

I eyed the man on the right. He had a mop of dark brown hair, almost reaching his shoulders. He seemed to be _lighter_. A little less concerned with the world, or at least, a little less affected by it. His smile was more genuine and easy. I got the impression that most of what Dean had experienced had been to protect his brother. _Sammy and Baby._ I was a mantra in my head. Everything he had, everything he had to give, went there. Those two. I looked back at Dean. “Don’t worry,” I said “I’ll take care of her.” It was the least I could do. It was his last wish, and I was the only one who could fulfill it.

I folded the letter back up and replaced it and the picture into the envelope. Setting it with the cassettes, I leaned back a second time. “Hells Bells” was falling from the speakers, as I rubbed my hands over the dash. “Don’t worry, Baby. I gotcha.” I don’t know where the words came from, but I had the sudden need to sooth her. Like I was comforting her after the loss of her child. _I gotcha. I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna fix you, and make you new again._ “We’re gonna make Dean proud.” I promised, and instantly felt a warmth flood through me. I choked back a sob. I felt relieved, I felt sad, I felt _love._ I was overcome with a sense of longing. My head rested on the dash between my hands, as I rode out the emotions I couldn’t possibly understand.


	3. Open Her Up

The weeks flew by for me. It became a simple, but exhausting routine. School and work taking the majority of my time, and every spare moment was spent on the Impala. Surprisingly, I discovered there wasn't a great deal wrong with her. After changing the battery and giving her a good old fashioned tune up, she started right up. I drove her around the block a few times, but I didn't feel right taking her out until she was prime. Thus started the systematic replacement and repair of everything I could think of that might cause a problem. I replaced every filter, and flushed everything that could be flushed.

I had never before so much as changed oil, and here I was flushing entire systems. As strange as it seemed, I felt like I had a hand guiding me to make her perfect. Every time I was about to make a mistake there was a voice in the back of my head, whispering to me, “Uh _uh. You don't wanna do that... do this instead_.” To my credit, I had learned quickly to listen to that voice. Of course that was after one or two not so successful car repair ventures. I could have sworn I heard that voice in the back of my head laughing at me, and saying “ _I told you so, dumb ass.”_

But all in all, the repairs went smoothly, and the only thing holding me back from running her down the open road, was time and money. But about two months before the end of my junior year of high school, everything but the body work was done, and my Baby was ready to stretch her legs.

I rolled the windows down, and drove gingerly from the driveway, my dad eying my progression. He had sat me down the night before, and given me a lecture on safe driving. Actually it was more of an “if you wreck it, you repair it... classic car upkeep is pricey... don't ask me for gas money” talk. _No Problem._

I drove Baby about half an hour away, just out of town, back to the farms where I had bought her. There were back roads aplenty out that way, hilly and curvacious. My teenage mind supplied me with female analogies as I drove. I wasn't looking for womanly curves though. I was looking for a solid plank of straight asphalt to let my girl go. And I found it. It was the sort of thing you might find in a calender. I turned onto the road, vanishing into the distance, lined with deep green spruce trees, bits of sunlight playing on the asphalt as the breeze swayed the trees lightly.

I took a deep breath. “ _This is it.”_ The voice supplied. _“This is where she proves herself.”_ I revved her engine, listening to her rumble. _“Don't forget the music.”_ I pushed the cassette into the player, and waited for it. I couldn't help the grin that etched across my face as “Back in Black” by AC/DC erupted from the speakers. My heart started to pound as I revved her up again, and released the break sending her flying forward. She sped up, faster and faster, the vibrations of her excitement running through my body, and making the adrenaline swell. She was _magnificent_. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, in that moment there, that I had made the right choice. She was perfect. Wonderful. More than I had hoped for.

“ _Listen to her purr!”_ The voice yelled over the music. On instinct I turned my head to the right, as though looking to the person who spoke.

He wasn't solid and complete, like one might assume. More like a reflection caught in breeze blown water, but enough there that I knew who I was staring at. He bobbed his head to the music, his hand extended out the window, trying to catch the wind. The smile on his face one of pure bliss. I was overcome with the sense of coming home after years of being forced into exile. It was overwhelming, and I felt the pain and the joy swell inside of me, amplified by the acknowledgment of what I was seeing.

“ _Don't freak out, Nikki. Take it in and open her up.”_

I turned back to the road, obeying, because, really, what else was I going to do? I pressed down on the peddle, and listened to her cylinders fire. When I glanced back to the passenger seat, my companion was gone. As least to my sight he was gone. But I knew he was still there. I could feel him, and I liked the feeling. I like the knowledge of having him there, guiding me. So we did what we did. We drove.

It was nearly mid night when I finally returned home. I had expected to find my father waiting up for me, livid that I had stayed gone well past my curfew. But instead I found a silent house with a note on the fridge informing me there was left over mac and cheese in the microwave.

For the first time I could remember, I was grateful for my boring nerd life that left me with no occasion to get into trouble, thus actually affording me great leeway when I did do something wrong. For a moment I pondered what sorts of shenanigans I could get into, but shrugged it off. That was a bit of a slippery slope, and I didn’t' want to risk losing what trust I had built. My dad had even began to concede that perhaps my “impulse” buy wasn't such a bad choice after all. Granted he didn't _say_ that, but he had stopped saying what a stupid decision it had been, and for my dad, that was kinda the same thing.

After finishing my mac and cheese, I plopped down on my bed, and stared at the ceiling, allowing the events of the day to fully sink into my mind. I was acutely aware of the silence that surrounded me. When I was in the Impala, or working on the Impala... or near the Impala, there was a sense of presence. I just didn't feel a lone, and there was that ever present voice that I had, until today, assumed was my own mind, or my own subconscious. Now I knew different, and that changed everything.

I reached over to my nightstand and pulled out the letter and picture I had retrieved from the glove box. The words that had left my heart pumping and filled with emotion, seemed to echo so much more now that I understood just how deeply a simple car could affect a man. There was so much between the lines that had been left unsaid, that until then, I really didn't understand. I knew he loved his car. I knew he almost viewed her like a surrogate mother. It was painfully obvious in the way he described her loving care and protection. But I understood now, he was _in_ love with her. Not in a sick, “her tail pipe looks hot”, sort of way, but in that, “Death can not separate us” sort of way. That kind of deep and abiding love that makes a man turn from the light, and cling desperately for the sake of ensuring safety, and security. _If you can't appreciate her and take care of her and love her, then you need to move on and find someone for her that will, because she deserves the best._

I knew then, that Dean Winchester had given me more than just a car and had shared more than just an aptitude for mechanics. By guiding my hand, by whispering into my head, and even sharing his emotions, which I was now certain he had done as I sat behind the wheel of the Impala that first day, Dean had given me his trust. He had put his faith me, and trusted me not to betray it. He had trusted me to love his girl as much as he had, to open her up and make her shine again, just the way she deserved.

I closed my eyes and let the memory sense of Baby's rumble cover my body and lull me to sleep. The last conscious thought as I drifted away, was that I wasn't going to let Dean Winchester down. He trusted me, and I was going to earn that trust.


	4. Let Me In

I resigned myself to listen to Dean. No matter what he seemed to tell me, I listened. I took to carrying my laptop outside, and searching for anything I needed while sitting in the front seat, listening for that voice. _Yeah, get that one, there, its better... no dude, no, we are not doing zebra... just no._

By the time my junior year was coming to a close I had managed to complete the body work, and interior work. I had picked up as many extra shifts as I could, and even found myself doing odd jobs here and there to earn a little extra. Every dime went to Baby. I wanted her to be as close to mint as I could get her before summer started. With Deans help, everything went smooth as butter, and sure enough, on the first day of summer I woke up ready to take My Baby out, and show her off.

That weekend was an end of year party at Ryan's house. Normally I didn't go to parties, (please reference, previous admission of nerdification), however, with my attention occupied on Baby's beautification during the past several months, Shawn had acquired a new, slightly more popular standing, (turns out I was mistaken when I made the assumption that he would be kicked out of the party I helped him sneak out for) and had used that to get me an invite.

It's necessary here for you to know a little about Ryan. Where as I was the exemplification of _nerd,_ Ryan was the exemplification of _dick._ Yes, he was popular and good looking, but there were a lot of people like that who were perfectly nice. I don't remember having to really deal with any _mean girls,_ or _dickhead jocks._ For the most part everyone was civil and nice enough, just stuck to their own cliques. But Ryan was the guy that pushed you into lockers and found every possible reason to pick on you. He was a walking bully stereotype and indulged in the kind of juvenile behavior that most of my piers had abandoned at the start of the junior year. You know, when we started to mature a little.

Back to the story at had; I should have known then that this would not end well, because I simply did not get invited to parties. But I drove Baby over there anyway. Of course she was a hit. “Yeah, I fixed her up myself... isn't she beautiful... 1967 Chevy Impala, best car to ever roll off the line...” and on it went for a good portion of the night.

I can't tell you how proud I was of Baby that night. Unfortunately, not everyone was as impressed with her, or me. Ryan, for instance, took special exception to her. In retrospect, I don't think it was so much that he took acceptation to _her_ , as much as it was that she _belonged_ to _me_ , and somehow in his mind I didn't deserve her.

“How did a loser like you, get a car like that?” and “No way, you did the work yourself. Wait. Did your daddy buy her mint, and let you wash her?” He laughed, like the joke was funny.

“Just cuz that's how you got yours, doesn't mean that’s how I got mine.” I snorted at him and walked away. Honestly, I really wasn't gunning for a fight, if I were, I wouldn't have walked away, and gone _out of my way_ to avoid the douchebag. The spat seemed to be over, and the party continued. Shawn, nodding at me now and then, letting me know he was still there, even though we really hadn't talked to much that night. It was nice to know he had my back.

The party started winding down, and I decided to head home before it got to late. I pulled my keys out of my pocket and spun then around my finger, catching them in my palm, before looking up, and stopping dead in my tracks. My throat dropped into my stomach, because there in front of me was was My Baby, her perfect black sides covered in red spray paint. “Faggot” emblazoned across the doors. I moved closer, and saw deep gashes in the paint.

I heard Dean's voice echoing around me. 

“ _I tried. I tried. I'm so sorry. I couldn't touch him, Nikki. I wasn't strong enough...”_

I still couldn't speak, struck dumb by shock. Then my body shivered from a sudden drop in temperature. Dean stood in front of me, his pale green eyes, borrowing into mine. Rage etched on his face. “ _He touched Our Baby. Let me in Nikki. Let me in, and we'll make him pay.”_

I could feel his anger pool through me – and yeah – it fed mine. The shock and sadness giving way to fury. “Yeah.” I said, “do it.”

Dean smirked before stepping toward me. He was freezing and then I was freezing, feeling like I had been shoved naked into a tub of ice water, chilling me deep to my bones.

My instinct was to reach up and rub warmth into my arms, but I had no control over my movements. And then I started to move. Me, but not me. I watched from a window, now buried deep in our eyes, as Dean moved me, stalking forward.

It was the strangest sensation. I could feel every movement, as though I was making it, but couldn't control it. It reminded me of the reflex tests I had undergone as a child. With the rubber hammer striking my knee, sending it into a kick. My body felt bigger, more muscled, tenser, a wall of sheer density. Dean was my hammer, and we moved forward, growls rumbling from us.

I knew what he had in mind, and for the life of me, I wanted it, too. We had to defend her honor. He didn't attack _us,_ he attacked _her,_ and while we were fine with being made fun of, picked on, laughed at, ostracized, and systematically shunned – you simply _did not_ screw with Our Baby.

We found him standing around the keg, laughing with his friends, Shawn with him. A thought passed through my head, that there was no way Shawn could have know what he had done, but that thought faded away as Dean carried us forward.

We didn't stop, we didn't give him a chance to explain or apologize, (and apologize he did), we never slowed our momentum as we moved forward, fist slamming into his gut. A loud, pained grunt, expelled from him as he hunched over, being caught when our hands fisted into his shirt and slammed his pliant body against the wall. “You touched my car.” We growled, pulling him forward and slamming his head against the wall this time, then allowing him so slouch down, before our fist found one kidney, and then the other. We let him fall to ground this time, and climbed on top of his chest, locking his arms under our legs, as he begged. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please... please... I'm sorry.”

“Not sorry enough.” We said as our fists began to pummel his face.

Hands were on us then, grabbing and yanking us away. Having only allowed us to continue our assault as long as they did because they knew Ryan deserved what he got. We allowed them to pull us off, but managed to land one more solid kick into the side of the bloody pulp on the floor, still apologizing and pleading between pained coughs and gagging, blood filled breaths. We jerked our hands away from our captors, smirked and pointed down to Ryan. “The next person to touch my car, is going to wish I was this nice.” We left the house and climbed into our defiled Baby.

The moment I pulled the door closed, I felt Dean leave me, my body, having grown accustomed to his presence, I felt another splash of ice run through me, and I shivered, the adrenaline subsiding. I looked at the visage beside me.

My hands began to ache from the abuse they had just taken in order to punish Ryan. I worked my hands open and closed, refusing to allow them to atrophy.

“That was freaking intense.” I gasped.

“ _I know! Right!”_


	5. Burn Baby, Burn

Apparently, beating the hell out of one of the most popular, yet douchey, guys in school earns you a reputation as a bad ass. Turns out, girls like that. Who knew?

Seriously, who knew? I'm kinda perplexed by the whole thing, “Oh, you beat someone to a bloody pulp? That's HOT!” Of course that's my perspective _now_. Then, when I was 17... yeah. Girls thought I was hot. GOD! That was a _great_ summer.

But all good things must come to an end, and my summer of parties, debauchery, and total awesomeness was no different. Okay, okay. I make it sound like that's all I did. It's not. I worked full time all summer long. Let’s face it, my dad was right, the upkeep on a classic car, especially one that's your primary source of transportation... not cheap. Plus, fixing the crap Ryan did to Baby took a chunk out of what I had left. Turns out the bastard didn't “key” my car, as much as “screwdriver” it. What a dick.

Doesn't mean I didn't get in plenty of “sewing my wild oats”. Come on!! I was 17.

What surprised me most, about that summer, was my side job though. Turned out, after restoring baby, there were more than a few people at school who wanted a little help with their cars. Mostly little things, like oil changes, thumping noises, dinging noises, jiggly tires, yada yada yada, but I had no problem saying, “Sure, you buy the parts, and pay me for my time...” A lot of the girls and single moms hired me for that very reason. I was a hell of a lot cheaper than most mechanics, would work around a schedule, and didn't talk down to them like they were stupid.

I hadn't really thought of it in any other terms, than “earning a little extra cash”, until my dad sat down with me at breakfast. I thought I was in for another lecture of some kind. The summer was at a close, it was the weekend before my senior year was to start, so I figured, “Schools starting, buckle down, don't spend so much energy on the car” blah blah blah sort of thing. Imagine my surprise when the conversation took an entirely different route.

“I have something to say, and I want you to sit down and listen before you speak.” See how my Dad started conversations with me. “The Impala. I was wrong son.” Yeah, see, I nearly peed myself there. “That is probably the best investment you've made, and not because it...”

“She.” I corrected. (See what I did there?)

“Not because _she_ turned out to be a great car for you, but because of how much having _her_ has helped you grow up. Since you've gotten her I've watched you go from, what ever the hell you were before, to a responsible hard working young man. You've found a hobby, and a talent that you have managed to turn into a small business with a great reputation that I'm even hearing about at work. Your on your way to having a career in something you really love, and that's something not a lot of people get to have. So, uh,” He awkwardly, patted me on the shoulder. “I... I... I'm proud of you son.”

I was speechless for a few moments, taking in what he had just said. Not only was my Impala a great idea, but he was _proud_ of me? Hell, if I didn't love Baby, and owe Dean my eternal gratitude before, I sure as Hell did now. I wanted to say something, but all the words I had were stuck in my throat, being held at bay by the tears that were going to fall if I even attempted to speak. I refused to start crying in front of my dad after he just used the words _man_ and _proud_ in the same sentence, while referring to me, no less. I lucked out when he continued to speak.

“I was in the break room, and happened to mention needing my brakes looked at, and this lady handed me a piece of paper with your name and number on it. Said you were, reasonable, reliable, and work around my schedule. She said you wouldn't screw me over.”

“Oh.” I could have smacked myself. _Oh._ Idiot. Then I smirked, realizing what what my dad had _really_ said, and decided to take a page from Dean's book. “That's cuz I'm awesome, Dad.” And to prove it, I spent the rest of the day fixing my dad's brakes, and huffing at him, because, “Seriously, Dad, it whines at you for a reason. Your lucky its just the one, do you know how much rotors cost?”

“No, son. I've never had to get my brakes repaired before in my entire life.”

“You wouldn't have to _repair_ them, if you had them checked when they started whining...”

Honestly, and never let my dad find this out, but that was probably the best day of my whole summer. After that conversation with my dad, it really astonished me how quickly I had taken to auto mechanics in general. I had never thought about it before my dad pointed it out. What I had initially thought was all Dean's influence, turned out to be an aptitude. And now, formed while elbow deep in brake pads with a smile on my face, I had a plan for my future.

After replacing one rotor and four brake pads, I took a shower, and laid down on my bed, contentedly eying sexy muscle cars. And thus began, the absolute _worst_ night of my life.

Ryan threw an end of summer party. Which I was not invited to, and I had no intention of going to. Instead I opted to lay on my bed, listening to classic rock and looking at classic car magazines. I admit it. I was totally getting into it. My love of the Impala, had exploded once I was behind the wheel, and I finally understood the _why_ that had perplexed me that day at the car show. I got it now, and I could no longer call it a “waste of money”. I eyed centerfolds of classic muscle cars the way most guys eyed centerfolds of playboy bunnies.

So there I was, happily admiring a 1970, Canary Yellow Duster, when Shawn called me.

Remember when I said, that it would be the Impala pulling the Intrepid? Shawn's car wouldn't start. The party was only a few blocks away, and I asked why he couldn't walk. "Because its raining."  I glanced out my window, while I was drooling over car porn, a summer storm had picked up. It really wasn't that bad, but enough to deter even a short walk.

I slipped on my jeans, and sneakers, and hustled down stairs. By the time I made it to Baby, the rain had stopped and the humidity had set in. I rolled the windows down, and pulled my shirt from my chest, where it was already sticking with perspiration. I headed to Ryan's house.

The light breeze generated from my slow drive did nothing to cool my heated body, so I sped up a little and began to enjoy the cool air now circulating through the windows. The clouds opened again, and rain began pouring down.  The drops soaking my hand and sliding down my arm, sent shivers through my body.  It gelt so good.

Whether it happened because I misjudged my speed, or because I was too blissed out on the sensations to pay attention, or simply because it would have happened no matter what, it happened. Taking the curve to Ryan's house, I pressed by brakes to slow down, and Baby began to slide, her rear end swerving, spinning me front to back.

 _Foot off the brake!!_ I tried to listen, but I was panicking. My body did nothing I wanted it to, and instead I pressed harder on the brake, and tried desperately to gain control of the car. The Impala began to spin and slide across the slick road before jumping the curb and crashing over a stop sign.

It must have been a combination of the speed and the curb, that pushed her over on her side.

I wish I could tell you exact details of what happened next, but I can't, because she fell on her drivers side and I was knocked unconscious. From what Shawn told me later, she slid down the pavement, her steel body propelling orange sparks as she made her way down the street, finally coming to rest only two houses away from Ryan’s. There were flames coming out from under the bent hood, which caught, what must have been gasoline or oil.  Even the rain was doing nothing to stiffle the fire.

Shawn said he heard my name being called from the inside of the car, as he ran toward me. I have a vague recollection of this. Hands on me, shaking me, “Nikki! Come Nikki, wake up. You gotta get out. Nikki!” Then I was gone again.

The person in the car with me, frantically began to kick at the cracked windshield, before shattering it enough to climb out, and drag me behind him. He carried me to the nearest yard and set me on the grass. Shawn knelt down next to me, and then looked up at the stranger, only to find him gone.

Gone to him, not to me. As I started to come around it was to Dean, calling my name. _Come on Nikki, let me know your okay, man._

I was numb and dizzy, nausea spiraling up in my gut as everything began to clear, and blur, and clear again. Red hot flames licked at the corners of my eyes as I struggled to keep conscious. I could hear Shawn yelling at me, trying to get my attention. I waved my hand at him, and allowed him to help me sit up. My mind began to focus on what was around me, and I met pale green concerned eyes.

“Dean?” I said. Recognizing my friend, but still not entirely certain what was happening. I was confused about where I was, and why I was there. But Dean was there, and Shawn, and that meant everything was okay.

“Dean? Is that the guy in the car with you. Man he just took off, didn't even stay to see if you were okay.”

While he was speaking, my eyes landed on Baby, consumed in flames. “No.” I whispered. “No. no no no no no. NO!” Shocked back to coherency, I tried to stand, determined to run to Baby, not that there was anything I could do, but still, she was freaking on fire, and I needed to get to her. As I tried to stand a wave of nausea over took me, and I vomited on, what would have been, Deans feet.

“ _Gross man.”_

Dean, clear and corporeal to my eyes, but completely invisible to Shawn, sat down next to me on the grass, and crossed his legs. I swallowed, as I watched him stare ahead at Baby. I wish I knew what he was feeling in those moments. I can only imagine it was something similar to me. Because, dude, my heart was breaking. Every bit of me was wrapped up in that girl, and there was nothing I could do to save her. Even worse, her fate had come at my hands.

I tried to speak, to say something, to express what was raging inside of me. I wanted to yell. But instead, I whimpered her name and began to sob as the sound of sirens in the distance began to fill my ears.

“ _You can rebuild her from the ground up, just like I did.”_ I turned to look at Dean, his eyes now focused on me. _“But you'll have to do it without me, this time.”_ Deans freckles were sparked across his face as the light from the flames reflected on them. He looked very young sitting next to me now, not to much older than myself. So much younger than the man in the picture.

Shawn pressed a damp towel someone had given him to my head, where I was bleeding. _How had I not noticed that?_ Shawn continued to speak to me with encouraging words I wasn't listening to, as I took in what Dean had said. I tilted my head in confusion, a throb of pain shooting through my skull, as the question “Why?” Died on my lips.

Dean must have read the question in my face, because once the pain subsided, he nodded toward Baby. _“Everything that held me to her is burning up.”_ He sighed, something very disconcerting to witness a ghost do. _“My blood, sweat and tears are being burned away. Once they're gone, I will be, too.”_ I sniffled and choked down another sob. This was to much. I didn't want to lose him anymore than I wanted to lose Baby. It was just, to... damn... much.

“ _Nikki.”_ He said, laying his hand on my shoulder. _“Man. What's dead, should_ stay _dead. Besides,”_ he removed his hand, and stretched out on the grass, _“now Baby can really be yours. Like she should have been from the start. You can fix her up, make her yours, get that zebra interior you wanted.”_ I couldn't help chuckling at him. _“Naw, man, seriously. Don't douche her up to bad, kay.”_

“Okay.” It was all I could say. I wasn't even trying to hold back the tears. We sat together in silence for a few more moments, as we watched Baby burn. The fire trucks and ambulance began to pull up around her, and Dean sighed again, contentedly now, and I was graced one final time with the sensation of Deans emotions wafting over me.

I felt, _content._ Yes, Content, was the right word. Because Dean was content with what he accomplished. Content with how it had ended. Content with where he was headed and how he was going. I was bathed then in love and gratitude, it washing away the pain of loss that filled me up so completely just moments before. I watched as he began to fade away, a cocky smirk on his face, that was so much his signature. And I could have sworn, before he vanished entirely from my sight, that son of a bitch, winked at me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go. An Epilogue.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy the final chapter.

So I fixed her up again. This time with the help of my Dad. It took nearly an entire year to get her up and running back in respectable condition. I did end up driving around a cheap beater. Turns out my sister had finally saved up enough to get a new car, so during my senior year, I found myself in a 1986 Ford Tempo with duck taped bumpers, named Earl. Yes, I named him Earl. Every car should have a name. I'm not ashamed to say, that after I finished Baby, as a thank you to Earl, for his service and reliability, I fixed him up and found him a good home with a cute 16 year old girl named Emily. It was her first car, and I offered to do all the upkeep on him myself.

So here's how the rest of it went. I graduated, of course, and enrolled in community college, getting my certificate in auto mechanics, and an AS in business management. I apprenticed for a few years with an established mechanic, then worked for him for a few more, before tracking down Mr. Albert Combs, and begging on hands and knees (after seeing the Darth Vader pencil holder on his desk), “Let me be your Padawan, Jedi Master.” After all, I argued, once his laughter died down, “us nerds gotta stick together.”

The year I turned 23, I married Emily, and promptly we began to populate the planet. Welcoming my first born son, Nolan a year later, and then Levi two years after that. The year I turned 36, I opened my own Classic Car Restoration and Repair.

I'm sure you're thinking that I passed down Baby and my business to one of my sons, and you would be so wrong, because, let me tell you, I finally understood, as I entered my forties, what my Dad meant when he said to me, “ _what ever the hell you were_...” because I seriously began to wonder what genetic makeup those two had.

When Nolan turned fifteen, and I said, “Let's go, I'll teach you how to drive Baby.” He launched into a lecture about fossil fuels, environmental dangers, and gas guzzling, antiquated, titanic monstrosities. So, I told him the only thing I could. “You are no longer my son.”

Two years later I did the same with Levi. He didn't even bother to give me a reason. He just arched his eyebrow at me and said, “No, Dad.”

“But I was going to leave her to you.”

“No.”

“She's your legacy.”

“No.”

“ _LEGACY.”_

“No.”

I would have disowned him as well, but it hadn't worked with Nolan. Bastard was still living in my house. Something about “parental obligation.” Whatever.

Now, as it so happens, The year Levi turned 15, Emily announced, bouncing into the kitchen, like she was 21 again, “I'm pregnant! Isn't it wonderful!” While Emily saw rainbows and lollipops, I saw my retirement being flushed down the toilet. I did not, however, because I am not stupid and do indeed value my life, mention this.

Several months later, I sat in bed, completely dejected about the prospect of having no son to pass Baby onto. What would happen to her? Images of her being sold to one of those wealthy collectors who would lock her up in a pristine garage and take her out only in the summer to those Fourth of July car shows plagued my dreams at night. It made me sick. Emily rubbed my back, and reassured me. “Look at it his way, Nikki. You got one more chance.” She rubbed her belly. “You better brainwash this one real good.”

I was somewhat comforted... Until three months later as I stood, holding a squirming, screeching ball of estrogen, and all my hopes left me. I'm not saying that to be sexist. In all my life, I have met only a handful of females that wanted anything to do with cars, and after the monumental failure that was my male offspring, I had very little hope for Lexi.

My hope was restored, the year Lexi turned five. I was out in my driveway, giving Baby her bi-annual tune up, and Lexi was playing on the grass, with her baby doll when I heard her gasp.

“Oh no, Sammy,” she said to her doll. She got up and ran over to me. “Baby has a smudge.” Lexi used the hem of her shirt to buff away whatever it was she _thought_ she saw – because just for reference, Baby does not _smudge._ I smiled down at her.

“Sammy, huh. Short for Samantha?” Finding humor in the name she picked for the doll. I had told her the tales and adventures of Dean Winchester traveling across America with his brother Sammy several times. I modeled their adventures after Scooby-Doo. They were her favorite bedtime stories.

“No Daddy. Don't be silly. Sammy's a boy.”

I eyed the dolls pink overalls, and long brown hair. “Looks like a girl to me.”

Lexi held the doll out from her body, and tilted her head left, then right, then sighed, heavily. “I told you Sammy. You need to get a hair cut, or people were gonna start thinking you're a girl.”

I burst out laughing, and was rewarded with a wide smile. “Can I help you fix Baby, Daddy?”

“Sure thing.” I lifted her up, and set her on the edge of the car. She leaned over, and observed in silence for a few minutes. Then began asking questions.

“Whats that do? Where does that go? Whats that called? Can I hold that for you? Can I pull that out? Can I put that in? Can I drive Baby when I grow up?”

“Connects the spark plug to the engine. Inside that hole I just took the other one out of. That’s the spark plug. No, you don't wanna get grease on your shirt. Yeah, here let me help you with the box. Okay, but let me help, it needs a bit of a strong... okay, maybe not. Good job.” It was the last question that stopped me, because I couldn't even begin to tell you how long I had been dying to hear those words from my progeny. “Yeah, sweet heart of course. And I'll tell you what. You help me keep Baby in tip top shape, and when you grow up big like me, you can _have_  her if you want her.”

“Really!?” Lexi bounced up off the car, and wrapped her arms around me. “Thank you Daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you.” She plastered kisses across my checks, then pulled back and smiled at me. I grinned so wide, it hurt my cheeks, because her ecstatically joyful green eyes, and the pale freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks had to be the most beautiful thing on the planet. Even more beautiful than Beauty. That – That, right there, was the happiest day of my life.

So I kept my promise, and on the day Lexi graduated college (Mechanical Engineering, thank you very much), I presented her with the key to the Impala, and much like she did when she was five years old, Lexi bounced up and down, then threw her arms around me, chanting, “Thank you, Daddy” over and over, before bounding to Baby and sliding behind the wheel.

Travis, her boyfriend at the time, slid into the passenger seat, as Lexi turned the ignition. Of course Baby rumbled to life like the force that she was, and “Back in Black” poured from the speakers. (I totally planned it that way.)

A smile spread across her face, until Travis said, “Come on, babe, not this crap,” and actually had the balls to lean over and try to turn the radio off. Lexi smacked his hand, her smile gone, and pointed her finger at him, a glare in her eyes that made _me_ take a step back. “Driver picks the music. Shot gun shuts their cake hole!”

Now Travis wasn't a bad guy, hell, he ended up marrying Lexi. He just needed to learn one cardinal lesson. _No one screws with Baby_.

So there you have it. No, I didn't pass the business on to Lexi, that went to my best mechanic, who loved that shop as much as I did. Lexi got Baby, and at least for one more generation, she stayed on the road, crisscrossing America on family road trips, holiday excursions, and Sunday drives.

That day, when Lexi pulled out of the driveway, I thought about Dean, and the words he wrote in that letter, so many years before.

_Here's the point. Baby is the most awesome and magnificent car on earth. She was meant to be on the roads. She was meant to be driven. If you take car of her and love her, she will take care of and love you. She will be there for you for the next 30 years, like she has always been there for me._

I watched, as Lexi stretched her arm out the window, catching the breeze in her hand, bobbing her head to the music, a blissful smile on her face. I couldn't help but think that finally... Finally, they were home.


End file.
